The Storm
by Whatever Makes You Break
Summary: Gwaine tried to avoid trouble, really he did, but it always managed to find him in the most unlikely of places.
1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue**_

–

_Hate must make a man productive.  
Otherwise one might as well love. _

–

It was raining, pouring actually, and that was not necessarily a bad thing because Morgana loved storms. It was one of the few things she still loved really. She had become much like a summer storm, many could say, dark and dismal, terrifyingly beautiful with brief moments of illumination that lasted no more than a second, growing few and far between as it progressed. She never had a problem with rain, getting wet, I mean. She and Arthur had spent the better half of their youth skipping mud puddles and catching raindrops on their sovereign tongues. Arthur, she couldn't bring herself to remember any pleasant memories of her once closest friend, for she feared the stone shell she had worked so hard to perfect over the past year would shatter before her pale green eyes and that the rumor she was nothing but hollow would be proven true. It was a rumor she started herself.

Morgause had made her that way, many could argue, but she knew better. Morgana knew it was Merlin who had turned her beating heart to stone, because it was he and he alone who had prepped her very soul to be destroyed by filling her with false hopes of better days, better days and poison that is.

She wiped away her damp cheeks, blaming the weather for the translucent streaks of liquid below her cold and determined eyes. Morgana did not cry, not anymore. A thick bolt of lightening spooked her handsome white steed, a gift from that bastard King Uther Pendragon, reared up and released a frightened nay. She hushed the beast, petting his strong neck. She had gone to meet Morgause again, a decision she now regretted after receiving little news and now nearly being tossed from her horse. She had successfully reached the outskirts of Camelot when the rain began to fall so harshly that she could no longer see more than a few yards before her and neither could horse. A dim glow could be seen in the distance, a local pub no doubt. Climbing down from her new leather saddle, Morgana led her horse towards the pub she had decided to seek solace in until the rain ceased.

After tying the horse within the covered stable, Morgana contemplated whether or not she would go inside the small establishment that was undoubtedly inhabited by people, something she found less than bearable nowadays. However, as soon as an earsplitting roar of thunder brought a rare chill up her spine, she reluctantly conceded and headed for the entrance. It was as she expected, a few patrons and a simple bartender and barmaid to hold down the fort. Two elderly men spoke in hushed voice in a far corner, speaking of their youth and the welfare of their children no doubt. A shaggy haired man sat with his back turned to the raven-haired beauty, sipping his ale and fiddling with a piece of parchment and a quill. In the opposing corner a rambunctious group of men, who were too old to be as drunk as they were, sat laughing and carrying on in a disgusting manner.

Morgana pulled up a chair as far away as any of the occupants as humanly possible, pulling down her soaking wet green hood. The obnoxious group of men became abruptly quiet, looking over at her as if she was the last slab of meet. Rolling her eyes, she ordered a mug of warmed mead from the plump barmaid to rid herself of the cold chill that encompassed her being.

Sipping slowly on her drink, Morgana slowly allowed the spicy liquid to bring about a comforting warm tingle that almost brought a smile to her icy expression, a genuine smile, one that actually reached her eyes. She fought it off, however, focusing on the carvings upon the wooden table top. Her fingertips traced the name Edward,wondering what had possessed the man to write his name in such a place. She had been so distracted with her nonsensical made up tales of Edward's life that she didn't notice the large man hovering over her on the other side of her table for one. He was an obese man, ten or so years past his prime, when his rolls of skin had once contained muscles. His dark eyes struggled to focus, hazy from too much ale and what remained of his short and peppered hair was askew. He sent her a lopsided smile and winked. Morgana released a purposely audible huff, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

"What?" she snapped viciously in tone that could freeze a sober man's soul.

"Why hello, love," he said, his balance swaying ever so slightly. "What brings you to such a disgraceful establishment?"

His two other friends looked approvingly at the wobbling drunk, sure that he would succeed in bedding her or something equally disgusting.

"That is none of your concern," she hissed. "Now, leave me be."

"Oh, come now," he cooed. "No need to be hostile, love. I'm only being friendly."

He leaned in and confidently lifted one of her perfectly wavy locks and curled it around his sausage-like finger. Morgana instantly swatted him away, fighting the urge of her magic that tended to show itself when she was infuriated. He was unaffected by her rejection. If anything, he was more determined to woo her than before. Morgana gripped her dagger under the table, giving the man one more chance to let her alone before she would strike. Her teeth were grinding against each other in her mouth, narrowing her gaze. Just as she was about to pull out her weapon, someone intervened. It was the faceless man who was sitting with his back to her when she first entered.

He was undeniably handsome, no matter how hard she tried to think him unattractive. He had a cheeky grin that reminded her of Arthur for some reason and irked her in the same manner. The handsome man gripped the bulbous wrist of the other man, yanking his hand back from Morgana.

"Oi, mate," he began with humor in his voice. "I don't think the lady is looking for any new friends."

"Piss off," the large man grunted. "This is none of your concern."

"Fine, let's let her speak for herself," said the good-looking rogue. "Milady, are you appreciating the attention this kind fellow is bestowing upon you?"

"No," she spat.

"Sorry, mate," he smirked. "I was really rooting for you."

The obese man pulled his hand away from his opposition and reluctantly trudged with some effort back to his two friends who were now in a fit of hysterics. Morgana rolled her eyes again and returned to her drink as before. She didn't expect the shaggy haired bloke to join her, nor did she invite him. She groaned and looked over at him with a nasty look across her face while he grinned back at her, as utterly unaffected as the other stranger.

"I'm not looking for any new friends," she sighed. "You said it yourself."

"What a coincidence," he teased, "Neither am I."

"Tell me...?"

"Gwaine," he answered.

"Lovely," she said sarcastically. "Tell me, _Gwaine_, do you typically get involved in situations that are none of your concern?"

"One of my favorite pastimes, I must admit," he grinned.

"How utterly fascinating," she said in an unamused tone. "That must make you a favored patron."

"Ah, now I don't think I can even manage to bring myself to respond to such a statement," he chuckled. "I've learned responding to sarcasm only gets me into trouble."

"And I'm sure you do all you can to avoid trouble," she smirked and not in the villainous manner she had become accustomed to.

"Yet it still manages to find me," he smiled, nodding towards her.

–

_**Review.**_


	2. Chapter 1: Eye of the Augurey

_**Chapter One**_

_Eye of the Augurey_

–

_There is a thin line between  
love and hate. _

–

"This really has been... _interesting_," said Morgana in an exasperated tone, "but I wish to be alone."

"No one who says that ever really means it," said Gwaine, smiling in the infuriating manner that drove Morgana to take another hefty sip of her mead.

A heavy clap of thunder shook the wooden table the pair occupied, a bit of ale sloshed out of her metal mug. Morgana wished the storm would end, and she didn't just mean the rain, but she just didn't know it yet. A bolt of lightening illuminated the night sky through the opposing window as drops of rain pummeled the glass, never had Morgana seen such fury from the skies. Maybe the gods were punishing her, she smirked at the thought. The gods could do nothing more to punish her, she could no longer feel anything anymore. Pain did not faze her, she'd suffered too much already.

The poison that wretched traitor, Merlin, had fed her had torn up her insides. She cried out in utter pain for weeks, feeling her organs burn with a ferocity unlike any other. She wished for death, she begged for death, and if it hadn't been for Morgause and her tender care then she would have surely had her wish granted. She'd never told her dear sister, but she thought that some of her pain could be placed on her breaking heart. Her most trusted friend had stabbed a dagger through it, and left her incapable of love, of trust ever again. She had given him everything, given him her entirety, and he had betrayed her in ever way a person could be betrayed. Her grip tightened around her mug.

"I enjoy my solidarity," she said quietly.

"I find that hard to believe...?" said Gwaine, carelessly shoving a strand of hair behind his ear. "Sorry, love, I didn't catch your name."

"Because I did not offer it," she said.

"Aw, come now, I gave you mine," he teased, pouting his lips in a mocking manner, "and my real one at that. I didn't even give you one of my many aliases."

"That was your decision," she frowned.

"How about I guess then?"

"Out of all the names in the world, what makes you think you could possibly guess mine?" she asked, annoyed.

"I've been known to be quite lucky," he smirked. "I think you underestimate my guessing abilities."

"Guess away then, you fool," she said, rolling her eyes and flicking her wrist airily at him before returning to her drink.

"Let's see," he said, squinting at her as if she was a complicated piece of art (and really, she was). "I can tell you are not of common make, common blood, I mean. So your name couldn't be something average, run of the mill."

"And what makes you think such a thing?"

"Well, several features," he grinned, enjoying her sudden interest. "Your skin for one–"

"My skin?"

"The color, really," he said. "You have no tan, which leads me to believe you spend little times toiling away in the fields all day. You most likely spend your time within castle walls."

"Why could I not be a seamstress?" she asked indignantly. "I'd spend my days inside, tailoring dresses and such."

"But you are not," he said simply. "Your hands are flawless, no seamstress can avoid the burden of callused fingers. See–"

Gwaine had overstepped his bounds. When he reached out for Morgana's hand and began pulling it towards him, the raven-haired beauty had gripped her dagger with her opposing hand and had pressed the blade against his throat before he knew what was coming. He didn't respond in the fashion that Morgana had expected or wanted for that matter. Gwaine froze with his hand around Morgana's wrist, but he did not flinch, or seem at all that surprised to have a knife to his throat, which led Morgana to believe that it wasn't the first nor would it be the last time he'd have such an experience. Gwaine's eyes rested upon Morgana's now fully exposed wrist and more specifically on her healing bracelet. She suddenly felt rather exposed herself, uncomfortable even as a sly grin slowly crept across Gwaine's handsome face. His dark eyes gradually abandoned their gaze upon her bracelet to meet Morgana's fierce green orbs. Her face was intense but oddly curious.

"Ah, and I wonder what name a sorceress bares," he whispered.

Morgana instantly dropped her hand baring her weapon from Gwaine's throat and looked up at him with doe eyes. She awkwardly cleared her throat and slid her dagger away without meeting his eyes.

"Such a brash accusation," she said, trying to conceal her uneasiness. "You speak treason, sir, such allegations could have grave consequences for me in Camelot."

"Your secret is safe with me," he smirked, placing his index finger to his lips and winking an insufferable wink at her.

"No such secret exists," she hissed. "What makes you think I attain such power?"

"No mortal being can bare an eye from the Augurey," he said astutely, nodding towards the gem upon her wrist. "Only those of the old religion can wear the eye."

"And how would you know such a thing?" she seethed.

"When your home changes as commonly as the colors of the sky you tend to run into characters just as colorful along the way," he shrugged. "I picked up a few things when I was in the south of Eire, from an old witch who made her living selling such trinkets to her kin. She paid me a wage in exchange for a bit of carpentry work. It makes sense now, why you're so attractively hateful."

"What in heaven's name is that supposed to mean?"

"The eye," he explained. "It's from a bird that is a species of a phoenix, sometimes called the bird of death. The eyes have been used to make jewelry with sole purpose of making the wearer virtual puppets to the enchanter. May I ask who gave you such a generous gift?"

Morgana rubbed her hand over the bracelet, working it from side to side as she did when she was nervous.

"A very dear... friend," she said quietly.

"Ha!" Gwaine snorted. "I would certainly not consider anyone who gave you that little token of their affection to be _dear_ and most definitely not a _friend_. It was dark magic that gave you that bracelet, and you are most definitely subject to its power."

"Liar," she hissed.

"I've been called many things in my life," said Gwaine apathetically, "but never a liar."

"I have no reason to believe you," she snapped.

"And you have no reason not to either," he said wisely.

"No," she said coldly, more to reassure herself than anything. "No – it is not true."

"I'm not going to force you to believe me," said Gwaine, shrugging his shoulders and taking another sip of mead. "You're free to do as you like – er – well, I guess you're not since you're wearing that bracelet. Anyhow, if you wish to prove me wrong then simply remove the bracelet and wait awhile to feel the effects disappear."

"Wait awhile?" she repeated, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"Well, the effect wouldn't just disappear like that," he said, snapping his fingers for good measure. "It takes time for the enchantment to fade just as it took time to take hold of you."

"That is preposterous," she snorted.

"Is it?" he smiled.

Morgana frowned, looking down at her favored bracelet once again. She's worn it since Morgause had left it on her bedside table in the middle of night over a year ago. Since then, she'd changed of course, but that was on her own accord. She furrowed her brow, deep in thought, but a strange thing happened. She couldn't remember what had made her so hateful. Yes, Merlin had put her over the edge and Uther certainly had it coming, but she'd had the opportunity to kill the king in the past and she saved his life instead. She promised herself after that day that no matter what she had to do to protect herself and her kin, she would not resort to spilling blood in the process... even Uther's.

It was not because she had suddenly realized Uther was a kind and just king, far from it, but she knew that it would destroy Arthur, and she could never hurt him, never. Yet what she was mixed up in now would do just that. Why had she never recalled such a thought before. She had so willingly agreed to help Morgause, and she's used her as a vessel... and Merlin had to kill her to save himself, Gwen, and _Arthur_. She blinked a couple times, suddenly feeling frightened. She's taken the bracelet off before, though for no more than a day. She remembered feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her chest towards the end of the hours without the piece of jewelry, but that had to just be a coincidence. She swallowed hard and looked back up at the handsome pariah.

"It is too bad that you will not be able to see how wrong you are," said Morgana, trying to regain her composure. "I will leave this pub, remove my bracelet, and in a couple weeks when I feel no such change then you will not even be around for me to say 'I told you so.'"

"I'm always around," he smirked, "and I'm always up for a good 'I told you so.'"

"How endearing," she said, rolling her eyes and taking to her feet, "but the storm has appeared to have stopped now, and I really must be going."

"I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again soon," he grinned.

"Oh, I hope not," she said, pushing in her chair. "Goodbye, Gwaine."

"Goodbye, Lady Enigma," he smirked, creating a substitute name for her lack of one.

Morgana didn't look back at him when she left the pub, not even when she mounted her steed and not even when she reached the walls of Camelot. However, when she reached her bedroom, she thought of Gwaine as if she had. As she brushed out the knots in her long locks, Morgana looked down at her wrist, and with one swift movement before she could change her mind (or before someone else could change it for her), she tore the bracelet from her wrist, shoved it in her jewelry box and slammed it shut. She felt no different, and she didn't expect to, _not really at least_.

–

_**Review.**_


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